Souvenirs
We were always worlds apart
Even in our younger days.
Me, so wild and reckless,
You with your slow and steadfast ways.
You held me close, sheltered me,
I heard the beating of your heart.
And I naively took for granted
We'd never be apart.
You used to think I hung the moon
With a certain mischievous style.
Your laughter rings in my wistful ear…
I miss your touch, I miss your smile.
Now, as time marches on
And age dusts my hair,
I hold a faded photograph,
A sentimental souvenir
Dug out of a forgotten and crumpled shoebox
Full of newspaper clippings and old letters.
Poignant reminders of days gone by
When we were once together.
Tonight I'll tuck the moon under my pillow,
And your voice will whisper softly in my dreams.
So, Grandma, tell me a story again,
'Cuz I know now what nostalgia means.
* de - may 2000
